Her unwilling presence
by Elesianne
Summary: Celegorm and Curufin do not speak of such things as love, and they keep the secrets they know about each other's loves.


_**Warnings:** intentions of kidnapping, imprisonment and forced marriage, rather unhealthy thoughts about romantic relationships, Curufin and Celegorm being horrible._

 _ **A/N:** This is another one of my stories where very little happens but there are feelings etc. So consider yourself warned for that as well._

 _I was wondering exactly how Celegorm was 'enamoured' of Lúthien_ _– when he and Curufin start arranging for Celegorm to marry her for political/Silmaril-related reasons, sending messages to Thingol and keeping her captive, what does Celegorm actually feel? This fic is an exploration of Celegorm and Curufin's feelings by an incurable romantic who nevertheless thinks Celegorm and Curufin were pretty black-hearted by this point._

 _There are also mentions of Netyarë, my take on Curufin's wife who has appeared in some of my other fics, but you don't need to have read any of those to read this._

* * *

 **Her unwilling presence**

Celegorm pretends to Lúthien that he only wants to help her in her quest, and he pretends to his brother that he only wants her for her beauty and the might of her father's kingdom. Celegorm needs to deceive the Sindarin princess to stand a chance of gaining what he desires; Curufin he chooses to deceive because he has his pride, and the mad, hopeless love he feels goes against it.

As the three of them ride to Nargothrond and Lúthien sits in front of Celegorm on his steed he is filled with the headiness of her presence, the unbelievable wonderfulness of the feel of her encircled between his arms, her scent that is as sweet as a summer's day in Valinor.

Lúthien was alone and desperate when Huan brought her to Celegorm, and to have been able to reassure and gladden her had felt like the best thing he'd done in a long time though it was under false pretences.

She is so beautiful, the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He knows it to be impossible but the radiance of her eyes is to him brilliant than the light of Laurelin or Telperion, or the sun that now fills the world with its brightness, or his father's greatest jewels that Celegorm has dedicated his life to recover.

He knows also that thinking these things make him a sentimental fool of a kind that he has always despised and mocked.

He wonders if it is just her famed fairness that has him captivated, steals his breath and makes him desperate to never let her go, makes him willing to commit any kind of atrocity so that no other man can ever possess her. Whereas her he would never want to hurt; he hopes that she will not attempt to escape when she finds out that they bring her to Nargothrond not for help in her quest but to keep her a prisoner there.

For he does not want to have to bruise her shining skin by holding her down when she tries to run, to cause her to make sounds of pain; if he could he would only ever protect and cherish her. If the world were different, if he were a better man, if she were not in love with another.

Her beauty fills him with dark passions and tender feelings alike, and it is the latter that are more alien and more unsettling.

Does she have this effect on every man who sees her? Surely not, for if she did the men in Doriath would long ago have slain each other just to be the only one she ever glances at.

The only point of comparison Celegorm has so far is his brother, and Curufin certainly does not seem to be affected by Lúthien like he is. He saw the astonishment and awe in his brother's eyes when they first beheld her true form. Then Curufin quickly concealed those feelings like he does all emotions that reveal him to be anything other than imperturbable and invulnerable, and allowed only a certain appreciation to show in his gaze, the same kind of appreciation that he might bestow on a perfectly balanced sword or a well-trained warhorse.

Celegorm knows his brother well enough to see that although Curufin was also awed by Lúthien's beauty, it does not haunt him like it does Celegorm; it has not wound its magic around his heart and taken over his senses.

Then again Curufin is already bound to another. Though he now hates his wife as much as he loves her, Netyarë is still the one he will be joined to forever, and Celegorm knows his brother misses her. He has never told Curufin that he often hears him calling for her in the dark hours of the night when it is Celegorm's turn to keep watch and Curufin's to sleep. Curufin does not know that at those times, when he is under the power of Lórien and cannot keep his usual steely control of himself, he by turns begs her to forgive him and damns her for forsaking him.

Celegorm hopes that he doesn't reveal anything of himself by speaking in his sleep like Curufin, especially on these few nights they spend in the wilderness before reaching Nargothrond. For it is a heavy enough burden to love without any hope of being loved in return – and to hear one's beloved speak daily of the one she loves, that other, mortal man, to hear the love in her voice and see the devotion in her eyes – without the humiliation of being known to be a fool who cannot keep himself from loving without hope. He is prouder now, as a landless lord dispossessed, than he ever was before.

So he assures Lúthien that he only wishes to help her to save her mortal lover though this pretence raises a taste of bile and ashes to his mouth, and he lets Curufin believe that he only wants to possess Lúthien's beautiful body and cares not that he can never have her love and will not even have her affection after she finds out what he intends to do with her.

* * *

Curufin knows that Celegorm believes he manages to hide feeling more than unnatural desire for the dark-haired princess, and Curufin lets him believe. He doubts that it would make his brother feel any better if Curufin told him that he thinks Celegorm's feelings for Lúthien are not far removed from what Curufin feels for his own wife.

It is probably a rare sign of blind brotherly affection from Celegorm that in spite of knowing Curufin's nature, Celegorm thinks that his brother's love for Netyarë, the woman he married and who bore his son, is somehow purer and truer than the feelings that overtook Celegorm as soon as he saw Lúthien in her own form.

This is the only delusion Celegorm has about the brother he is closest to, and Curufin decides not to dispel it. He doesn't tell him that the only difference between the two of them is that Curufin had the good fortune of meeting his beloved when they were young and free in a land without war and violence, whereas Celegorm only encountered his when he had already become the worst version of himself and had the added misfortune of knowing, as soon as he met the one he was doomed to love, that she had already given her heart to another. To a worthless mortal man.

Curufin does not judge his brother for deceiving Lúthien and planning to keep her under lock and key, for he is certain that were he now offered a chance to possess Netyarë on similar terms, he would not hesitate for a second.

For centuries he has cursed her for forsaking him by staying in Aman and for not understanding and accepting his decisions and his loyalty to his father. He has hated her even while he still loves her, yearns during the day for her radiant smile and during the night for her shapely limbs entwined with his. Recently he has begun to fear that somehow, despite the eternal memory of the Eldar, he will forget the sounds of passion she made only for him or her soft tone full of love when she sung to their son in his cradle.

For all these long years he has missed Netyarë like Maedhros must miss his right hand, feeling acutely at all times the loss of something that used to be part of him.

If Curufin could see his wife again he would take the chance even if it meant imprisoning her, putting her in chains, listening to her curse him and beg to be freed of him – even if she never let him touch her again, even if all he could have was her unwilling presence… He would still take it.

For that is the kind of man he has become, the very worst version of himself, just as Celegorm has.

So Curufin keeps silent and helps his brother imprison his princess in their golden cousin's kingdom of carven stone, and as he ignores Lúthien's cries and curses, he tries not to think about how Netyarë would sound much the same if she saw the man he has come to be.

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 _ **A/N:** Every time I've written about Fëanorions in the blissful days of Aman I've kept in mind that in those stories we see the young, innocent versions of these characters: who they were when they knew nothing of loss and grief, before they experienced any real despair or fear. I wrote this fic to explore what they become once they've lived for centuries amidst war and loss and being bound by the Oath._


End file.
